some hip drum shit

there comes a time when you want to be older

there comes a time when you want to be bolder

I love you more when it's over

there comes a time when your helpful
there comes a time when your doubtful
I love you more when your spiteful 

there comes a time to wake up to whats happening
there comes a time to get out of whats happening
I love you more than whats happening

there comes a time when you are near me

there comes a time when you are near me 

a time that captures what we're after
a time: 
https://rapidshare.com/#!download|693p5|260283246|Ego.rar|100547|0|0

All The More Hardcore

In hope that he will see this tribute before he departs into the woods for the next several months, I am posting the latest Nick Persons album now. I apologize for interrupting my occult Italian trilogy but one must Goethe with the floweth. With the terminal defunctness of his group Fucked Butter, rap antagonist Nick Persons has had to keep busy creating his own brand of fucked hop. 2012 has so far seen the release of his primarily instrumental debut 66 Cents and more recently his return to the mic in Depart. Produced largely in bed in the wee hours of dusks and dawns, Depart captures the various altered states which occupy the mind at such times. "My House In Compton Is Off Limits" sounds like Prince on crack at 5AM after a wild house party in the 80s that Foreigner showed up to with some bad blow that gave everyone bloody nostrils. A hit to be sure. "Popular Kids" coins the proverb "we all know how to party, just clap" and makes one believe they do so much so that they will. "Yellow Drink" sounds like a stoned and tense philosophical conversation between Nick himself and Pizza the Hutt. "All the Hardcore" closes off the strange trip with the only sample Dilla was not lucky enough to pick up. All in all, Depart is an incredibly strong effort from a frighteningly deranged mind and deserves to be lauded as the truly innovative take on the hip hop idiom it is. Word up Persons.

Agony Ecstasy Discipline Harmony    

Here I am a blog post on a webpage: some text with a JPEG and a link, OH!

Ok so this oddity of an historical musical act in the 70s rock arena has been a bit of an obsession of mine lately. A couple of Manchester lads with a smashing studio set-up in Stockport who anonymously worked their way up the charts under various band names until finally landing a #2 with the questionable hit "Neanderthal Man" under the Hotlegs moniker in 1970. It was as 10cc that the team of Creme, Godley, Gouldman and Stewart redefined themselves as hopelessly Zappa-obsessed album rockers with plenty of music industry cynicism and studio experimentation to fill at least two volumes with material strange and fascinating enough to catch the ear of one J-Dilla. Oh and hooks, they had lots of those.

Hum drum days

The band's s/t debut traverses the rich lyrical ladscapes and sonically iconic soundscapes of 50s & early 60s rock cliche, all the while with tongue protrudently in cheek. Opening with the memorable martydom of Johnny Kowalski ("aka Johnny Angel"), and effectively that of the motor-accident subgenre which created him, 10cc begin their extensive project to lampoon each of the rock's idiomatic inventions and their inherent cultural givens. The project continues with the portrait of the classic idle femme in "Donna" (which shamelessly borrows from "Oh! Darling") and the application of real life law enforcement temperaments to the "Jailhouse Rock" tradition in "Rubber Bullets". On all accounts, these bubblegum homages raise questions of identity within the framework of rock 'n' roll subject matter. Interestingly, in looking back to this earlier framework - as many of their glam and proto-punk contemporaries were - 10cc would seem to find and get at these issues more directly rather than simply emulate a retro aesthetic, while writing fun and catchy ditties that stick in your head for days. Perhaps my favourite cut from this disc, "The Dean and I", exemplifies this: an epic journey from adolescent innocence and its corresponding popular contexts and sentiments through sexual maturity and nuclear familial fulfillment and into the oblivion of moral responsibility: capitalism! 

Play Me

Very easily the band's opus, Sheet Music is an intricately crafted journey through the ins and outs of success in the rock world of the 70s, with a handful of ingenius melodies and recording techniques to boot. Opening with the Neil Young meets Spoon infectiousness of "The Wall Street Shuffle", 10cc turn their scathing critical eye upon NY's financial gravy train, recently the site of some kind of pinko occupation or other. Having set the tone for an economic commentary that will run throughout the album, the band turns that same fiery beam of cynicism upon themselves in the now highly coveted (RIP Dilla) "The Worst Band In The World", a track that really shows their mad scientist sound engineer side. It seems to me what Dilla did with the aforementioned track (retitled "Workinonit" on his Donuts) is exactly what pop music used to do: reappropriate something timelessly appreciated by all and update it. This is, of course, exactly what 10cc were doing themselves on their debut. It's Dilla's adaptation of their song that highlights exactly how ahead of their time they were in certain regards. "Old Wild Men" is a simply beautiful tribute to their rock forefathers while "Silly Love" showcases again the band's chameleon quality, with it's Marc Bolan-esque fuzz leads and ADT-ed barked shouts. "Somewhere In Hollywood" is a majestically beautiful odyssey through yet another commercial American cityscape and features a totally unecessary "The Long and Winding Road" melodic quote. "The Sacro-iliac" is an appropriately relaxed look into the future of the cushily retired rock musician, giving us a sense of where 10cc saw themselves in a decade and not a bad guess at that!

The whole affair brags lush textures, untouchable 70s drum sounds and a treasure of oddball samples for the hungry digger. DIG!    

What's a boy to do?

In returning to my "great over-looked local records of 2011" theme I am realizing that, in trying to cast a far-reaching analytical gaze beyond my city's borders, I have, on two accounts now, overlooked the closest & earliest influence on my musical tastes: my older sister. While in my adolescence it was her years ahead that benefitted me greatly with an early knowledge of life-changers like the Ramones and the Cure, in recent times I've become exposed to amazing Montreal musicians she happens to know personally. Ensorcelor are one such case, as are tUnE-yArDs. The latter's 2011 release is truly a marvel. An extremely dynamic and ecletic pop record that weaves words and themes as intricately and effortlessly as it does complex rhythms and soaring melodies, W H O K I L L is a trip, to put it bluntly. It is a trip through a neighbourhood, through the minds of the people and the events that make it one like no other. It is a trip through a bleeding heart's arteries, showing us where personal indifference dead-ends and where emotion derails political meaning. I certainly have yet to and doubt I ever will hear a record that so perfectly captures the simultaneous socio-political claustrophobia and expressive freedoms that intersect haphazardly in this city. Merril steps on toes lovingly, shouts revolution unforgivingly and all to highly rhythmically complex and frenetic arrangements and lush melodies. Her current explosion onto the larger North-American "indie" scene comes as no surprise when I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that a little city like Montreal contained such a larger-than-life artistic persona this long. If you haven't heard this yet you probably already have a friend who loves it, get ready to join in the fun.

Doorstep

More Power to the People

Rounding out the scintilating trio of 1971 freak outs (see Headless Heroes of the Apocalypse & There's a Riot Goin' On) is this, Funkadelic's LSD-drenched manifesto. This masterpiece takes the shape of an entropic epic in retrograde motion and like those other two apocalyptic sonic documents of '71, Maggot Brain comes off as generally rapped up in post-60s disillusionment. Opening with George Clinton's prophesizing "Mother Earth is pregnant for the third time, for y'all have knocked her up. I have tasted the maggots in the mind of the universe, I was not offended for I knew I had to rise above it ALL, or drown in my own SHIT" we are swiftly swept into Eddie Hazel's sludgey six-string trascendence. Clinton's bold production choice to drop all accompanying instruments but guitar arpeggios and snare drum tell us from the start who is in the driver's seat for this experiential trip of an album as well as what a visionary he truly was. With an acoustic guitar riff we're chimed into the upbeat ode to capitalistic love, "Can You Get to That" only to headbang that lesson away to the promiscuous "Hit It and Quit It". Closing the first side is the nursery rhyme derived plea for the virtue of community amongst classes "You and Your Folks, Me and My Folks. "Super Stupid" provides a heavy-rocking reintroduction and a sound that Lenny Kravitz would make a career out of in the inverted 60s. Following is "Back In Our Minds", a deranged return to consciousness setting us up for the domestic degeneracy, street rioting and ultimate nuclear devastation of the thoroughly corporealizing "Wars of Armageddon". In just six numbers Funkadelic manages to take you on a journey from your cerebral cortex to your bowels and through every facet of humanity in between.

I've linked for you here the reissue with the incredible bonus tracks "Whole Lot of BS" and "I Miss My Baby" as well as the unmixed version of the Maggot Brain jam, replete with acid fried backing track. Go on Hit It an' Quit!

Riot

The best burnout of the 20th century would have to come from the '60s wouldn't it? And it would of course have to come from Sly Stone, the number of drugs he used in the recording and production of this album likely being close to the amount of overdubs. This hazy trip into the socio-political mind of America's foremost popular Soul/R&B/Funk group at the time cast an inescapable shadow over the futures of hip-hop and electronic music movements alike. Tape hiss and a mix determined more by mechanical degradations than human ears convey the claustrophobic nature of Sly's creative process as well as his drug-induced paranoia perfectly. Here and there darkly tinged proto-electro-soul pop non sequitors emerge ("Runnin' Away"), freeing the listener enough to breath deep before revisiting one of the Family's anthems through Stone's murky disillusionment ("Thank You For Talking To Me Africa"). This is still avant and lo-fi by today's standards, let alone seethingly cynical and funky.

Africa is talking to you

Jungle Love

This comes as a reminder that even on Valentine's Heavy Shit still goes down. Similarly this disc would seem to have come as reminder to the world in '61 that Heavy Shit still goes down in jazz. With the move towards the public adoption of jazz as a foundation of North American cultural identity by the end of the '50s, all but the acknowledgement of the continuing opression of its originators had been accepted into mainstream (read: white) media. This, no doubt, posed itself as a challenge to those great minds of jazz to push the extremely progressive idiom into the stratosphere of experiential composition and performance. No group could be more apt to do this than this colossal meeting of minds, the original Power Violence power trio. As with much of the rest of their catalogue, Duke and Chaz set about recontextualizing and reconfiguring the older musical forms from which jazz sprung with the disintegration of post/hard-bop as backdrop. Max goes about doing what he does best: drop innovative rhythm bombs over everything. The opening drum lick of the title track(and track in its entirety) was arguably the most brutal moment in jazz at that point. What makes this record destructively brilliant is that none of these musical muscles hold back whatsoever. The full-on audio assault of the album's rockers as well as the floating serenity of the ballads are all treated with the same tastefully immersed participation (or lack thereof) of each musician featured here. Money Jungle is an atmospheric stew of the physical substances of jazz's underbelly - hooch, prostitutes, switchblades, drug money, session joints - distilled into a freely interpretive and rhythmically liberated landscape.

DIG

She Was Different

   

  Git In There!

  

Anti-Love 

Even with the recent renaissance of interest in her highly innovative musical output, Betty Davis remains one of the most underrated figures in music. Leave out the all-too-talked-about marriage to and influence on Miles Davis (we get it), being backed by some of the funkiest line-ups ever (among their ranks former Family Stone members, Herbie Hancock, Alphonse Mouzon...) and an unmistakeable image, Betty Davis should be praised for the sexual revolutionary that she was. Her in-your-face "I don't give a damn" lyrics were light years ahead of the misogynistic implications of the free love movement and waspy conservatism of second wave feminism. Betty took the female objectification being glorified in male musical circles at the time and threw it back in the mainstream's face. She showed that seduction, sexual deviation and promiscuity have implicit power and were not simply tools for gender oppression and championed other taboo sexuality like masturbation ("In The Meantime"). As for the music, it reminds us pungently of where the term funk comes from. You can practically smell these bass and guitar licks while drums and keys stay a throbbing pulse to keep your hips gyrating. Betty soars over it all with a vocal approach half-way between Sly Stone and Patti Smith. By the time of her third album, Nasty Gal, her vocals had grown into their own commanding raspy bellow of bedroom domination. Start with these two classics and see if you don't start sweating.

Two sides of Gene / left rev MCD

Gene side - Popular, commercial, smooth, "vanilla", straight, orchestral,  patriarchal, crooning.

Strangely I came to know the identity of this incredible voice through his not so sappy, yet not so subtle Jack Nitzsche arranged hit "Walk With A Winner". The overtly competitive machismo that defined this musical seduction of sugar mamas the world over, coupled with Gene's vocal bravado, won me quickly, helped by a few well-placed tubular bell parts from Jack. I quickly sought out his discography, which at first disappointed me with its over-saturation of (A. Nobody) writer credits and chart fluff as well his credit for penning forgettable Yardbirds hit "I'm A Man" ("that's spelled M-A-N"). However my further discoveries of this fascinating figure's pedigree sowed seeds for whats become a longtime appreciation for both Gene's smaltzy beginnings and his Hip-Hop championed self-reinvention...

left rev MCD side - Unhinged, political, funky, dark, stoned, fused, radical, unnerving.

This is the artist that lands himself as one of the greats to be remembered this and every month. The indescribable feeling of hearing "get it together... SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING!" in its original musical context as well as the "Jagger the Dagger" groove will never leave me, having redefined my teenage ear as profoundly as Q-Tip and the Beasties defined my adolescent one. Headless Heroes is one of those extremely unique early moments after jazz's heydey in which you truly get to see the black indivdual in total unabashed, political, social and artistic expression, all synthesized into a truly experiential album. The unmistakable textures on this record would inspire a generation of disciples to the vinyl statements of black cultural consciousness of which MCD was at the fore. Even his adoption of the Master of Ceremonies abreviation began a tradition that became central to hip-hop and rap culture. The ease with which the left rev spins something like Jesus' love, supermarkets and discovery of the americas into fever-pitched, politically charged lyrical landscapes is impressive in light of the climate of media repression around such issues. Mention must also be made of one Alphonse Mouzon who's performance at the drumkit here is unrivaled by any other. Playing with bold character and wild abandon, Mouzon's deep grooves and chopped polyrhytmic breaks shape the percussive backbone of hip-hop to the present day. I have no doubt anyone who hears this will fall head over heels for the bleeding heart radical that Eugene McDaniels became and produced his most influential work as.

GET IT TOGETHER

Back in '95

Mellow Out

"Now that's a HIT!"

 Brooklyn ZOO!



Just saw that I only had four posts for January and started feeling guilty. Well, what do these three disparately legendary recordings have in common? They are all OLD and DIRTY... and DIRTAY! Just as aesthetic similarities can be drawn from Eric's Trip and Ulver's 90s four-track masterpieces, Mainliner, GBV and ODB formed these seminal works through seemingly similar DIY approaches. While four-track tape portastudios are likely implicated in each of these records, it is a whole other common element to these artist's worlds that each manages to capture on disc: dirt. Grit, degradation, imperfection; the creative influence of the presence of such qualities in these musicians' artistic environs shape their output and are readily acknowledged and, in one way or another, transformed. For Mainliner, dirstortion, fuzz and minimalistic repetition are a direct route, through hynoptic sonic immersion, to obscure subconscious realms. GBV's Robert Pollard understands the importance of the spontaneous recording (and beer) to capturing great melodies and pop sensibility. For Dirty, existence in the world's underside is the longest and most intensive scholarly experience and yields knowledge that is tangible through its universal cultural applicablity. Get dirty.

  

Curtain Call 2011

Well it might have taken us 30 years but Canada has issued its response to Intermittent Signals. But, in true blue canuck (add to dictionary) fashion Dog Day has woven twelve wintry tunes into a hockey sweater of sonic cozy. Dreams, woods, winter, Woofy, friends, travel, these are the make up of Dog Day's lyrical world and inform the sounds they capture within the comfort of their Nova Scotia country home. The album entrances the listener with its auditory warmth only to lead them down a bread crumb trail into the trees, at night, away from the streetlights and loud bars, the band's other life. As well as one can hear in Toody and Fred's rAT$ performances the frantic energy of city nightlife, Dog Day's hominess and intimacy are conveyed with amazing clarity through their compellingly insular songs. Listen to this at night 

in the woods    

Frank Ocean appears to be dubbing over and completely rewriting the faces of the mix tape. Using the format in the truest digital sense (free online download replete with uncleared samples) to release his latest album, the work is thoroughly influenced by the medium. Each track works to create its own detailed static image of a moment spent in reflection, not unlike Stetson's compositions on Judges. True to its title, Nostalgia quells its material from Frank's vivid remembrances, painted with outstanding melodies on a backdrop of pop tableau. From Novocane's euphorically subtle bass crescendos to American Wedding's thorough deconstruction of the atmosphere of a cultural anthem to Swim Good's existential desperation, Ocean takes the listener on a trip through a vibrantly experiential past. Forget Jay-Z and Kanye's Redding abomination, its Frank that will "give you chills harmonizing to Otis." 

We all try

Here's just what your NYE soundtrack needs. Hurry Up was probably 2011's biggest pay off. Extensively assimilating traits of the various styles throughout the band's more than a decade of constant evolution, this album delivers the perfected M83 recipe for hooky french synth pop with a potent 80s flavouring. One can hear echoes of the songwriting of the last three albums, but with all fat trimmed and catchy choruses abundant. The album delves at times into the ambient leanings of the group, branching out in composition out while maintaining and developing its unique textural environment. As far as I am concerned, Anthony Gonzalez has gone ahead and secured himself the throne of the prince of french dance pop.

The city is my church

This is so easily the boldest record of the year it sort of had to make number one on my list. Anyone who hates this already hated both the artists involved by this point, because it is the perfect synthesis of their respective styles. Whoever said this was Berlin meets Master of Puppets was dead on. No, it is not "accessible", I don't really understand why that is what people who would call themselves Lou Reed or Metallica fans would want. For 50 years Reed has been setting his unnerving poetry to conventional pop and rock as well as avant garde musical forms, it seems natural that he would tackle one of the monoliths of 20th Century metal to channel musically the horror of his images, and they do amazingly well. Its not the music here everyone hates, its the fearful awesomeness of this collaboration that they're not ready to handle. This record is too real for 2011, maybe people will get it in 2012, or 2112 and then it will be retrospectively lauded like a Metal Machine Music.

Happy New Years

For the Love of the People

It brings me so much joy that the bulk of musical releases of 2011 that excited and delighted me were from wonderful musicians who I am lucky enough to call good friends. One of the more recent of these is the illustrious Thomas Gill, whom I met this time last year and whose performances left me awestruck and continue to to this day. Thom inevitably evokes comparisons to Prince and perhaps Sufjan's recent work for his incredible guitar work and angelic falsetto atop minimalist, programmed funk grooves. While these perhaps the most accurate pop cultural reference point it is almost more apt to capture the sense of a beautiful individual who escapes most generic categorization. Working thoroughly in the slow jam tradition, Thom's compositions are seductively spiritual, often sprawling and lyrically laden with deeply reflective, existentially esoteric christian lyrics. While not religious, Thomas' music finds the religiosity of day-to-day life and often applies evocative christian symbolism in a truly insightful way. This year saw the release of no less than four amazing records for Thom, three under the Thomas moniker and one with the recently formed OG Melody, a duo straight out the hood feat. Isla Craig.

Breath - The first material I saw performed by Thomas on laptop and vocals. Post-smooth, soft-edged electro-soul. The perfect music to put on for the first time you take that special someone you've been courting home. Light some candles, make a prayer to love and let your heart guide you.

 Such is Your Triumph - Introspective hymnals of wintry reflection. Recorded in Montreal at the Redpath Chapel with some of the city's hottest young jazzists, this a more acoustic exploration of a sacred physical and spiritual space. Candid, soulful confessions to the father that is thyself and the light that shines within us all.

Janela - Epic cosmic spirituals in a more Arkestral vein. This weaves Thomas' ethereal electronics into a jazz/fusion/neo-soul chamber ensemble context. Like Triumph above, this is excellent listening for the season and would make a blessed present to a loved one.

A fun and deep exploration of 90s R&B textures. Closer in aesthetic to Breath, this might be what Destiny's Child or TLC would've sounded like if they came from the Oakwood area of Toronto and liked ambient music. On this one Thomas and Isla get back to the teachings of the street and the profound morals that lie therein. That, love and kickin' it.

They are all available here, here and here

Your hallowe'en dance party

 

Needs this, every dance party does...

My life in this bush of posts

If you don't know this by now consider this a generous looking the other way from me while you educate yourself with your ears. Also, today is a day for ghosts.

The Operators

There is so little point in talking about this because its influence is still speaking to us from basically every record released since it. Without this album the Black-Eyed Peas would have to learn how to program a drum machine and Coldplay would have to know how to write a hook. Wanna know the secret to radio-play-ability today? FOLLOW THE FLOCK, RIP THIS OFF. 30 years later, this record is our world. 

Compute

Broken Record

This is the record that broke sound, first in CBGB's 30 years ago and later (2006) in a particularly mind-bending Dilla donut. Don't fuck with Frith.

Speechless

This might be the record that broke music, for good.

just killing time...

This record was made broken.

Down Below

I'm not gonna sing it: let's make luuuv

 

Aight so this one goes out to all the lovers and those that know how to treat each other right in bed. Between The Sheets is a landmark in soundtracks to babymaking. Come 1983 The Isleys had all but lost that loving feeling and the legendary looks that got them all the action '60s Motown had to offer. That said, this record is evidence that the booty calls to the Isley household had, in fact, slowed somewhat. If the desperation in lines such as "if you're free tonight, I'd love to take you home" or "don't you think it's time I got into you?" isn't clear enough just check out the back cover photo shoot of all six brothers curled up with roses and bass guitars in those well-loved silky sheets. However, from their uncontrollable urges came some of the most convicted songs about doing it of all time, not to mention the greatest rap beat of the '90s via the title track. Speaking of which, check out the astounding closing-section to that song which not only boasts the Halloween theme music type synth arpeggios and excessive 808 but also Sunn0)) worthy deep mini-moog bass drones and the oh so provocative lyric "I love the way you receive me/Oh I love the way you relieve me". Owning this on vinyl I have noticed that the B-side to get notably less rotation if not saved by the totally confusing album single that opens it, Ballad of A Fallen Soldier. How or why this made charts in '83 is one of the many mysteries of pop, but I suppose an only child remembering his father lost in battle through use of cheesy monologues and wailing fuzzed out guitar solos, as well as lines like "wrote to my congressman/he sends his regrets/that he's missing in action/but don't give up yet" and "he tried to get it all/ in DC, his name is on the wall!", was a sentiment that reached the disillusioned masses of the '80s. Or maybe it was the 'tastefully' done music vid that struck a chord with the MTV generation. Whatever the case, Between The Sheets makes getting into bed with a special someone that much smoother, as long as their not too choosey about the music.

Baby, baby